Page 18

Daimon

Twenty Years Earlier

After his wyvern chose him, Daimon had come to camp in a valley alongside the Zenovia Mountains. He was placed in the only omega fleet in the entire camp, a training purgatory for anyone under the age of sixteen. Even so, the council head of the Aegis was among the Riders training here, something that amazed Daimon each and every day. He was learning how to be a Rider from the best of the best, training day in and day out.

Instead of sleeping, he lay awake in his cabin most nights, thinking of Evelina. After Evelina lost her father and Daimon left, he vowed to himself to become the best Rider. He might have started with tasks like fixing roofs and cleaning leathers, but he would be the best at doing it until he was strong enough to join a real fleet and see actual combat. Strong enough to protect Evelina from ever feeling that kind of pain again.

So, he trained harder than any other fae, only stopping long enough to get a few hours of sleep and shovel food into his mouth. Some of the Riders were being formed into units composed of eight to fifteen Riders. He made it his mission to be among the best, to hopefully even be in the lead fleet with Commander Keir.

But at night, when his body was still and his thoughts were running rampant, he ached to go back home to her. Tonight, Daimon felt a pull so deep in his chest that he couldn’t ignore it.

It had been a few months since he had last seen her, and he just wanted to make sure she was okay. The omega fleet wasn’t allowed to travel out of camp without permission from their cohort lead—and definitely not without some kind of chaperone—but Daimon had already gotten away with short trips through the forests at night.

If anyone found out, he’d be in deep trouble. But it was worth the risk for Evelina—even if for just one night.

He crept out of the cabin and jogged around back to where Zephyr was asleep. As swift as he could, he got her up into the skies before anyone could see him leave.

The flight at this time of night was peaceful—quiet. Cloud coverage was thick, leaving Daimon and Zephyr flying in near-total darkness. He didn’t mind it, not when there was hardly a quiet moment in the camp.

Zephyr slowed, her ears pinned back against her head. Daimon scoured the forest beneath them, looking for the source of the disturbance. Everything was dark and still, the moon covered by thick clouds. His hair stood on his arms, and his neck prickled with the sensation of being watched.

Blood pounded in Daimon’s ears, his chest tightening. Something was off. He focused his breathing and tugged on his Essence, calling on his shadows and letting them wind around his wrists and arms.

“Sorry for the dramatics,” a deep voice said from behind. “I prefer to meet in the skies.”

Daimon looked over his shoulder, his eyes finding nothing but empty clouds. His heart thrashed in his chest. He didn’t know if this person was friend or foe, but he would be prepared if it was the latter. It could be another Rider; there were more than seven fleets now, and some were still being chosen.

“Show yourself,” he demanded, turning back around to find a dark figure within the clouds.

The figure moved closer. It was as if he simply floated, no wyvern to ride on and no wings to hold him up. The closer he got, the more Daimon could feel his pulse pound. There was something dark that radiated from this man, something that had Daimon’s instincts screaming at him to run.

A rumble worked its way through Zephyr’s chest, and she bared her teeth. Daimon raised his chin, expecting the figure to retreat. But he didn’t—instead, he came closer.

Daimon held his ground as the man came into view, taking in his appearance. He was impeccably dressed, hands folded behind his back. He wore a black coat, fitted perfectly to his shoulders and arms. Beneath the coat was a black linen shirt, threaded together with shimmering silver strands. His trousers were also black and tailored without blemish.

He wore clothing suited for a king.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time to meet you,” the man said.

“Who are you?” Daimon demanded, letting his shadows grow around his hands.

The man stepped closer, his eyes dropping down to Daimon’s shadows. He smiled. When his gaze lifted to meet Daimon’s, a chill ran down his spine. Daimon knew these eyes—one the color of midnight and one bright green. They were the eyes of Nyx, the God of Fear and Dreams, the way he was depicted in every text.

“I think you know who I am, Daimon,” the man said. “It’s not often a god takes interest in man.”

Daimon’s blood ran cold as the man smiled again, flashing his teeth.

“You’re—” His voice caught, his mind rushing to process the being before him. “You’re Nyx.”

Nyx winked. “In the flesh.”

Daimon reined Zephyr back a bit, feeling like his shadows were wholly useless now. The god who gave Nocturna shadows was standing before him.

His smile was dark. Sinister. He was every bit of the god of fear at this moment.

“Why are you here?” Daimon pressed.

Nyx sighed and leaned against a tree. “To tell you the truth.”

Daimon’s brows pulled together, trying to make sense of what truth the God of Fear and Dreams might have to share.

“What do you know of your parents?” Nyx asked.

Daimon paused, even more confused. He never talked about his parents. His chest tightened as he tried to keep his mouth closed. But the words came out before he could stop them, like there was a gravitational pull yanking the truth out of him.

“My mother never told my father she was with child,” he whispered.

“And your mother?” Nyx said slowly, his eyes expectant.

Daimon gritted his teeth, trying to hold the truth in. But again, the words came out despite him not wanting to speak them. “She died during childbirth.”

Nyx nodded and hummed to himself. “In a way, I suppose Aurora did.”

Daimon’s eyes widened, the tightness in his chest loosening. “You knew my mother?”

“I knew her very well,” Nyx said with a smile. His tone was teasing, like there was a joke only he knew. “In fact, I would say I knew her in a way I have known no one else. A way a god shouldn’t know a mortal creature. Fae may be immortal to time, but you all die eventually. Nothing is truly immortal unless you’re one of the Divine. Aurora knew that, and yet she chose to be with me regardless.”

Daimon felt as if he had been hit by a brick wall. His breath caught, his mind racing at Nyx’s words.

“You’re a liar,” he hissed .

Nyx tsked. “Haven’t you ever wondered why your shadows are stronger than the other Nox? Why they developed from such a young age? You’re only thirteen and you have better control than half the Nox alive.”

He was a liar, a trickster here to cause chaos as the gods so often did. But Daimon didn’t know of a fae that could float in the skies.

“Some have stronger Essence than others,” he said with his chin lifted. But doubt swirled in the back of his mind. “That doesn’t make me the son of a god.”

Nyx laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose that alone doesn’t. If my words are not enough, perhaps a memory will be.”

Daimon’s vision went dark. Though he was still seated atop Zephyr, his eyes now saw a different place entirely.

He saw his mother just as she was depicted in one of Maliena’s paintings. There were flashes of Aurora with Nyx, of them meeting in the forest close to the Zenovia Mountains. She was praying to him when he appeared to her, and she fell at his feet when he spoke.

Memories flew by: Nyx visiting her when she prayed. Then she was in front of a tree, talking of her love for Nyx with her hand on her round belly. Maliena was with her, warning her of the danger that came with worshiping one of the dark gods. The last memory was of her being dragged out of a small cottage while Maliena ran out the back door, cradling a newborn.

Daimon swayed as his vision returned to him, now back in the skies with Nyx watching him. His face was bored, his hands resting in his pockets.

“Why show me this, why now?” Daimon choked out. He couldn’t be Nyx’s son. He was a normal fae, just like everyone else.

“Your inheritance awaits you,” Nyx said. “The Shadow Realm is yours to take. Vidaris grows stronger each day with the war fueling her. She presides over the Vale, torturing the souls of the damned. But the in-between, the Shadow Realm, rests with a stronghold in both realms. A foot in the Vale and a foot in the living world. The ruler of it must be able to survive in both, which only someone born of god and man can accomplish.”

Daimon’s throat constricted with each word. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t wrap his mind around his new reality, let alone the idea of ruling the Shadow Realm one day.

“Think on it,” Nyx said, breaking Daimon out of his thoughts. “You’ll be the heir of darkness soon. It would be best to take up the helm before others learn the truth of who you are.”

Nyx disappeared into the shadows, leaving a cold wind in his wake.

Daimon’s head spun. If Nyx was telling the truth, Daimon wasn’t just the son of a god… He was the son of a dark god. The dark gods were not welcome among fae.

Perhaps if he raised his station high enough, no one would hold it against him if they learned the truth about him. If he could garner the respect of the people and prove himself worthy of Evelina in the eyes of the crown, then that would solve all of his problems. People would know he wasn’t who his father was—they would see past his bloodline.

But deep down, he knew the truth. People would try and kill him for it just as they had his mother—they would be terrified of a dark god’s heir. They burned his mother alive just after giving birth for what she had done with Nyx. The effects of people knowing would ruin his life, or that of anyone close to him.

And if he were to go back to Evelina…

Shame washed over him, consuming every inch of his being. What if there was darkness in him? There could be a chance of corrupting her, of whatever pieces of Nyx that resided in him somehow hurting her.

That was when he knew he couldn’t go back to her, even to visit. He couldn’t risk her life, her people turning on her the moment they found out she knew about him all along. Nor could he risk his weakness in breaking down and telling her everything, which he would do with a single look at her bright hazel eyes.

So he didn’t go back. Again and again, his shame of himself and his fear for her won out.

Years passed.

In all that time, he kept hoping for a day he could change his fate, when he would finally return to her and prove he was worthy of her hand.

He passed his trial, the harvest moon bright in the sky as he sealed his immortality beneath it. He and his training cohort met in a small temple outside a cluster of villages, a single priestess presiding over the trial.

Daimon’s trial was odd, the stories of his peers not aligning with his. They all spoke of three separate parts: mind, body, and spirit. His, on the other hand… It was composed of a single thing: slaying a dragon with three heads.

He thought it was strange that his experience was so different, but then again, the trial was specific to the fae taking it. Instead of dwelling on it, he chalked it up to how he had always been the odd one out his whole life.

His days shifted from being too young to do any real training to learning how to fly with other Riders. More and more he got invited to fly with some of the best, Commander Keir even joining some days. Zephyr seemed to fit seamlessly into their flight, teaching Daimon more than Daimon could teach her.

After that, Commander Keir told him he would be joining the main aerial unit—the Alpha Fleet. It was everything he had worked for, a real chance at making a difference in this war.

However, even that wasn’t enough for Daimon. He set his sights on being commander. After a few more years of sweat and tears, he secured that position too. He was almost the man he wanted to prove he could be .

But Nyx returned again and again with the reminder of Daimon’s heritage, and each success felt more like a lie. He had always hoped a day would come when he finally felt like he was worthy of Evelina. Over the years, that hope faded like fire being snuffed out by rain. The work, the titles, the training—none of it changed his blood.

Nyx was right. He would only serve to hurt her.

He was so close to being the man he fought so hard to become, only to question now if he deserved to be that man at all.